Page 50 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
I bite back the urge to push, to insist Idoknow, that I meant every damn word. Instead, I force my grin back into place and lean over to steal the last corner of his cookie. “Guess I’ll just have to suffer through Christmas without you, then.”
His lips twitch, as if he almost wants to smile, but he doesn’t. He leans back instead, stretching an arm across the back of the booth, creating distance again.
I let it slide. For now.
Because the truth is, I meant what I said. My momwouldlove him. My familywouldlove him. But if Max isn’t ready to believe that yet, then I’ll wait. I’ll be patient. Sunshine can melt even the thickest ice—it just takes time.
EIGHTEEN
MAX
I don’t knowwhat the hell he thinks he’s doing, offering me something like that. A family. A home. His mom. As if it’s that simple. I could just slide into his world and everything would be fine.
The invite sits heavy in my chest all the way back through the snow, burrowing under my ribs no matter how many walls I try to stack against it. He doesn’t push, doesn’t even bring it up again, but I can feel it radiating off him. The part of him that shines too bright, that keeps reaching for me even when I don’t deserve it.
By the time we hit the dorms, my head is a mess and my chest is tight. We stomp the snow from our boots in the lobby, and the hum of the lights overhead greets us for the first time in what feels like days, even though it’s been less than twenty-four hours.
The power’s back.
I clear my throat, needing to cut through the silence between us before I say something I can’t take back. “Guess we don’t need to stay together to conserve warmth anymore.”
It comes out gruff, and when I glance at him, Eli’s tongue pokes into his cheek like he’s biting back words. He nods once, slow, agreeing even though every line in his body says otherwise.
The ache that pulls at my chest nearly makes me take it back. It almost makes me gather him up in my arms and beg him to let me come back to his room with him. But instead, I turn toward my side of the building, boots squeaking on the wet tile. Hands shoved deep in my pockets, shoulders hunched like if I make myself small enough, I can avoid the weight pressing on me.
But something makes me glance back.
Eli’s standing there in the middle of the lobby, snow still melting in his hair, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. He’s watching me go, his expression bright on the surface, but then he shakes his head, just once, as though he can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m sure he's disappointed, or worse—hurt.
It twists something deep in my chest. My stomach knots, and for a second, I almost stop, almost close the distance between us.
Instead, I look away and keep walking, every step heavier than the last. Because this is safer.
The walk down the hall feels endless. Every step echoes in my head. By the time I shut the door behind me, I’m already unraveling.
Eli’s disappointed shake of the head keeps replaying, over and over. That look. I’m sure it will live rent free inside my head now. But the worst part was wanting to turn around and go find him. I wanted to close this distance I keep forcing between us. I’m so stupid. There are reasons we can’t work outside of this. One being I’m his athletic coach. I’m pretty sure there is something in my contract that says I won’t sleep with anyone on the team.
I scrub a hand down my face, but it doesn’t stop the flood of memory.
I’m eighteen again. Just out of high school. I thought I was careful. Thought locking my door, muffling the noise, meant I was safe.
It didn’t.
The door had slammed open with a crack so loud it rattled the frame. Splintering the wood in the process. My father’s face was red and twisted with fury as he filled the doorway.
The boy beside me scrambled up, shoving off the bed, trying to get dressed, but it was too late. The sheets were tangled around my waist, my bare skin caught in the unforgiving light of the hallway.
“Get the fuck out of my house!” my father roared, his voice raw with rage. He wasn’t talking to the boy I had just been kissing. He was talking to me.
I barely had time to pull the blanket up before he was on me. His fist connected with my jaw, hard enough to make stars burst behind my eyes. Then again. And again.
“Don’t you ever come back! You fucking queer. You’re not my son.”
I tried to shield myself, arms up, pleading with him to stop hitting me, but he didn’t stop. His knuckles slammed into my ribs, and when he didn’t think that was enough, his boot drove into my side. The air left my lungs in a choked gasp, pain ripping through me so sharp I thought something had cracked inside. Multiple things. All I could taste was blood.
It didn’t stop there. His hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing, shoving me back into the mattress as he spat words I can’t even remember now. All I remember is the burn of not being able to breathe, the world going gray at the edges, and my vision tunneling.
For a second, I really thought he was going to kill me.
